Sand Creek

April 25, 2012

We’re running for the finish line,
the end in sight,
just a few more hurdles,
just a few more.

And yet,
fatigue sets in,
and nobody’s watching,
so we pummel right through
the hurdles,
hurting our solid gold bodies.

The obstacles
we no longer jump over,
topple to the ground,
putting up an effort to sprain us,
when we could have worked mutually,
and won fairly,
in symbiosis.

We’re running,
our souls damaged,
but still running,
as we leave the pieces of plastic in the dust,
toward the finish line;
but this is only the beginning.

The author's comments:
Yo, yo, YO, people! Before you're all like "Whua??" at my Poem, please note the title. Sand Creek. For those of you who didn't do your History Homework (Evil glare) I strongly advise you go look it up. anyway, the Sand Creek Massacre was a hideous fight not worthy to be called a battle. It was about the terrible racism that happened at Sand Creek. The Colonel John Chivington ignored the Cheyenne Indians plea for friendship, and brutally cut open, tortured, shot, and killed many peaceful Native Americans, going so far as to shoot babies.
If you ask me, this is worth remembering, and writing about. otherwise, this is just a poem about some runners.

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